His First Day
by kirby1991
Summary: A crossover between Glee and TFIOS.
1. Chapter 1

Everyone remembers his or her first day. Not their first day in existence, of course; that would be silly. Their first day of memory. Their first smell. Their first physical pain.

I remember all of mine. It was moth balls. It's a very distinctive smell, one that tends to stick with you, hang out in your nose for an unpleasant amount of time. I was toddling through my grandma's house, trying to avoid the furniture, because she wrapped it to prevent me from staining it. I was always a wily one. Coincidentally, the first physical pain I remember also happened right around this time. My curiosity had gotten the better of me and I discovered the pain you can feel from a stray cup of hot coffee. I'm talking right out of the pot fresh. It didn't scar, thankfully, but the mental imprint it left was obviously unforgettable.

Of course these were the first series of incidents in my life I remember. There are other firsts you remember, too; some of them come much later than others. For instance, you'll probably always remember where you were or what you were doing when you met the love of your life. Even if it seems insignificant at the time, it will stick with you, I promise.

I was walking down the hallway, on my way to geometry. Geometry was largely forgettable until this particular day. I had no interest in math whatsoever; whoever decided to mix numbers into letters probably also crafted satanic worship, but that's neither here nor there.

Anyway, it came like a dream. There must have been a beam of light around her, like a really short angel. I remember the smell. It was meatloaf surprise day in the cafeteria, and it was always a bit…pungent. Suddenly, all of these sensations hit me at once. I had to talk to her.

And then came the physical pain. See, pain is a bit of a weird thing. Almost everyone can smell, unless they were just born without a nose. Almost everyone has some type of memory, unless they were like, born with half a brain or something. But pain is different. It's completely subjective. What hurts someone else might not hurt me. But this did. It was the pain in remembering that I had a girlfriend. It hit me right in the stomach, worse than meatloaf surprise after a few hours of baking in the oven.

That pain sharpened when I felt her hand on my shoulder. "What are you looking at?" she teased. See, Quinn Fabray was just that. A huge tease. We dated for four months before we even made out. Being a teenage boy, there were other, more specific pains that went along with that, but we'll leave those out for now.

"I just…uh…" I looked up and the mystery girl was gone. "R-remembered I forgot to do my homework last night," I said quickly. It was a shitty lie but it was believable. I never did homework.

Quinn was incredulous. "I don't remember having homework," she said in a tone that let me know she knew I wasn't being truthful, at least not completely.

"I had to make some up," I said, now bored of this conversation. Lying was exhausting, and I did it a lot, but it was never usually bad. At least, it never usually involved another girl. She leaned up and kissed my cheek, almost as if she sensed I was looking at someone else. She was marking her territory like they did on the discovery channel. "You can tell me about it later. I have to get to AP English." There it was, a chance to redeem myself. But I wouldn't take it.

The rest of that day wasn't necessarily a haze in the sense that I didn't know where I was or what I was doing, but I hadn't seen this girl before. I was one of – if not the most – popular guys in school. People knew me because I was me. It didn't matter to me that I didn't know everyone even if they knew who I was, at least not up until that point. I felt another pain that day…guilt. How could I have gone along for nearly two years without even seeing this girl? She couldn't have been new. No one moved to Lima, Ohio unless they had a death wish.

Later that night, after dinner, that pain from the meatloaf surprise started to hit me. I always used that time to surf on my laptop. Facebook was more my thing; everyone had a Facebook, unless they didn't want people to know who they were. Or, unless they were a little socially awkward. Those cases were coming few and far between.

No luck. I would have to go out, incognito, of course, and find out more about her myself.

My thoughts were interrupted by a series of messages.

"Finn Hudson."

_Ding!_

"We never talked about what you were looking at earlier."

_Ding!_

"And I suggest if you ever want to kiss me again, you'll speak up."

_Ding!_

"I might even let you see my bra strap."

Admittedly, it was a tempting offer. Quinn did have nice boobs, at least from what I could see with her shirt on. Even with that, admitting that I was checking out another girl was probably not the brightest idea.

"I forgot my homework," I said simply. "In fact, I'm trying to do it right now."

"You're trying to do your homework but you're logged on to Facebook?"

_Damn. She's good._ "Mike was helping me on Facebook."

"Why don't you let me help you? I'm one of the top students. Surely it can't be that complicated."

"I just don't get this stuff. I don't think you could help. Sorry." I quickly closed my computer and got up. Was there a secret camera in my room or something? I checked under a plant my mom put in my room that would help me with my oxygen balance or something. She was always trying to look out for me.

Nope, no cameras there. Don't ask me why I did what I did next…I still couldn't tell you. Slowly, almost like I still worried about a camera in the room, I opened my laptop back up. Of course there were about five hundred messages.

"Finn!"

"Get back here!"

"Don't make me call there and tell your mom."

"I'm coming over."

Like I said, she was good. "Do you know any girls in our class that like cat sweaters?"

There were a few moments of silence. Asking in person would have guaranteed a stay in the ICU.

"Cat sweaters?"

"Yeah, you know. Like…cute little fluffy ones."

"What are you talking about, Finn?"

"Never mind."

"No, tell me. Who was wearing a cat sweater?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

"Let me understand this. You're one of the most popular guys in school and you're worried about some loser in an animal sweater? Are you feeling okay?"

"So you do know her?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You said she was a loser."

"She was wearing an animal sweater…"

"So she's a loser?"

"Why do you care so much? What has gotten into you?"

I had to lie again. "She dropped her book and I was wanting to return it, okay?"

For a few minutes, there wasn't a response.

"Quinn?"

"I don't know anyone who wears cat sweaters, and if you want to continue talking to me, I suggest you don't get to know anyone who wears cat sweaters."

It probably sounds petty now, but that sort of thing always mattered to her. She always compared our status to money, like the more we had of it the more important we were. I guess I never really bought into it, mostly because I didn't see the connection there.

See, my mom was a single mom. She worked a lot and I never got to see her much. Her idea of splurging was painting our lawn to match the other lawns. Ours was usually dead. …Like I said, she was a single parent. My dad wasn't around; he died when I was a baby. Apparently, he was some type of war hero. It was pretty cool, I always thought; at least I came from someone great. I never looked at money the way Quinn did. Status was another thing.


	2. His Second Day

You remember what I said about the first day? Well, that's true. What I forgot to mention was the days following. Sometimes it's kind of a blur if you don't really try to imprint it in your mind. Other times, it's like you can recall every minute of the day following your life changing forever. On the very rare occasion, you don't remember much at all, but you still appreciate every milestone you get with those memories. The mind is a weird thing, I guess.

The next day – that being the day after I saw the then-mystery girl – was one that I remember perfectly. I also forgot the mention that there's at least one other thing that you remember perfectly: the anger of your girlfriend. Trust me, it sticks with you for more reasons than one.

I went to that same spot the next day, aimlessly shoving books into my locker. I think I might have accidentally put a freshman in there, too, but he got out later. I was looking for her again; in that small frame of time, I was trying to muster up an excuse to talk to her. There was something about her in that moment in time that just seemed so real. I could see the look in her eyes and I knew she was genuine. It's hard to explain if you've never had the moment. The best thing to compare it to is like a lightening bolt knocking you on your ass.

And like magic, she walked by.

"Hey!" I said, dodging a few of the hockey players who were practicing head-butting each other. I don't know whether she pretended not to hear me or it startled her, but she walked faster. Thankfully, I was roughly 6'5", so catching up to her wasn't difficult.

"_Hey," _I repeated, a bit more gently. She stopped and turned, tucking her hair behind her ear. She looked puzzled for a moment, looking around to make sure she wouldn't answer me in error.

"Hi…" she said tentatively. There was a long moment of silence before I cleared my throat.

"I'm Finn," I said, shoving my hand out at her. She looked it over before shaking it, but it was pretty weak, and her hands were like ice.

"I'm Rachel Berry." Finally, I had a name to go with a face.

"Berry? Like…a blueberry? Or as raspberry?" There was a small smile there. The ice was broken.

"I guess you could say that," she said cautiously, starting to walk. I walked alongside her for a few moments before stopping where I saw her the day before.

"So I saw you yesterday…are you new here?" She looked a little offended, but only for a few seconds.

"I guess I'm new to you. Of course, my school schedule is a bit hectic," she admitted. "There are some days I don't come to school."

She didn't cross me as the type to skip school; judging by her ensemble, she was extra studious. (I saw it on my word calendar.)

"Why not?" I asked, secretly looking around to make sure Quinn didn't spot us. She had bat ears, I think. You know, because bats don't have good eyesight. I'm sure her eyesight was pretty great, but she could hear a pin drop in the Grand Canyon and figure out exactly where it landed.

She looked up at me with an almost sad expression. "There are certain commitments I've made and I can't go back on them. So, I only come three out of five days. The other two, I worked from home. It was a pre-arranged situation," she explained.

I started to comment on that – and how unusual it was – until I heard an almost piercing sound.

"Finn Hudson!" the voice barked. "You didn't meet me at my locker today. I _told _you I needed you to-" Quinn's voice stopped as she approached the two of us. It was obvious we were in the middle of a conversation, and I was basically clinging on to Rachel's words, so there was no way of backing out of it. "Who's your new friend?" asked Quinn, who was eyeing Rachel up and down at this point.

"Oh, her? This is Rachel Berry," I said with a smile. The last thing I wanted to do was scare her away. Obviously, Rachel wasn't very popular, so I'm not sure why Quinn was so immediately threatened. If there was one thing you didn't do, it was make her question her place.

"Rachel Berry? I'm Quinn Fabray. Student Council Treasurer, captain of the Cheerios – I'm sure you've seen us perform – and first in line for homecoming queen nominee."

Rachel looked intimidated and I could feel my eyes roll into the back of my head. She always did this. With like…everyone.

"I'm sure she gets it," I said to abruptly cut her off. Quinn seemed perplexed. See, she had kind of a monologue. Pretty much everybody in the school knew her, even if she didn't know them, but if she felt they didn't, she would definitely make sure they figured it out.

"Well, I just wanted to make sure we became well acquainted," she replied sharply. I could feel her eyes piercing through me and my head ducked for a moment.

"So Rachel was just telling me something pretty interesting," I said, not wanting to lose sight of what this secret was. I had to know.

"Oh, it's…it's no big deal, really," she said, almost bashful. She cleared her throat, sensing the fact that she wasn't wanted. "I should really get going. I have to get to English." She offered a small, polite smile before she walked away. I watched her go. At least I knew her name now.

Table of Contents

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"I don't understand why you always do that," I said as I threw the ball to my receiver. Quinn was warming up for Cheerios practice.

"Do what?" she said, feigning innocence. "As someone who's very socially responsible, I felt she should know me. It could help with votes…" She paused to touch the tip of her toes. "It could even help on a college application if I find myself needing peer-to-peer evaluations." She touched her toes again. "I don't see why you're so bothered. You barely know her."

"You're missing the point," I said. It was probably one of the dumber moves I made that day. "You scared her off. Now she'll not talk to either of us again." I caught the ball thrown back to me by my receiver.

"And that matters to you why, exactly?" Her eyes narrowed and the skin between her eyebrows crinkled. It was the worst kind of red flag you could get.

"Well, maybe I want to expand my horizons?" I threw the ball again. "You're not the only girl I talk to," I said, pausing to drink from my water bottle. A little trickle of sweat ran down between my eyes and it was starting to distract me

"I'm doing you a favor. Talk to her, and you're committing social suicide. That's the end of this conversation." She twirled on her foot, over to her other friends who were basically laughing at me for being burned. Practice was over for me.

I made my way inside to the air conditioning. It never felt so good. After hours, the school was surprisingly busy; there were about forty clubs available at McKinely, and most of them met on rotating days. Then, you had the tutor center, which was open five days a week until 8:00 P.M.

I was standing at my locker when I heard the pitter patter of little feet, almost like a child's foot. It made me think of a horror movie, so naturally, I grabbed the jock strap out of my locker. Was I really going to beat some creepy ghost to death with a jockstrap? Probably would have tried.

"Who's there?" I asked. The hallway was poorly lit but I could still see someone. "Hello?" No answer. Slowly, I approached the figure, raising my jockstrap over my head like Tarzan. A shrill scream pierced the hallway, then mine, which was (embarrassingly) as shrill.

"It's me! Stop!" said Rachel, cowering in fear. I lowered my hand after an awkward laugh.

"What are you doing here? Do you realize I almost hit you with my jockstrap?"

I could see another smile tugging at her dimples.

"I tutor," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. I could tell she was trying to hold in a laugh.

"Make fun of me now, but that jockstrap is signed by Bruce Lee," I joked.

She seemed puzzled for a moment. "Is he someone in our grade?"

"No, just forget I said that." I cleared my throat. "Look, I wanted to apologize for earlier. Quinn is…well, she's Quinn. She didn't mean anything by it." I ran my hand through my hair to fix my helmet head.

"It's fine," she said, seeming nervous to get back on this subject. "I completely understand." She turned toward me directly. "She's threatened by anything that she isn't familiar with."

How this girl could read my mind was beyond me.

"And of course I respect your apology but it's really quite unnecessary…"

In that moment, I made what _WAS_ the dumbest move of the day. It only lasted a few moments, but if Quinn walked in to see me kissing Rachel Berry, my status at the school wouldn't be a question anymore – unless she put it on my tombstone.


End file.
